


metaphors and similes

by WrittenInMyPants (orphan_account)



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-01
Updated: 2014-03-31
Packaged: 2018-01-17 18:36:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1398304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/WrittenInMyPants
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carlos was a paradox of abrasive and soft. Carlos was wild as the feral dogs that roamed the non-existent mountains and calm like the ocean of himself.  Carlos was each strand of his thick, pull-able hair and the small brush strokes in his dark, immaculate skin (which is yet another paradox).</p>
            </blockquote>





	metaphors and similes

**Author's Note:**

> I appreciate you. Thank you.

metaphors and similes

 

The sunlight was the warmth of a mother's hand rubbing lazy circles on her child's jaw until the child drifted seamlessly into a deep and comfortable sleep, cushioned in the space between mother and father, the two parts of him or her self that gave them a base with which to build what would eventually become their identity and life. The wind was a vague symbol of vandalism on the side of an abandoned building, washed away by age and the unappreciative observers' need for perfection and their futile obsession with presentability.

Cecil listened to Carlos talk, and his voice was a sweet seduction that always made Cecil buzz, so he tuned into their echoing footsteps (or maybe not theirs, but they were something beautiful no matter whose they were). Carlos spoke in stutters and slurs and it was undoubtedly sexy. He would talk over himself when it came to science, but any other subject Carlos could only grunt and mumble incoherent comments about.

Cecil couldn't help but notice everything about him: The way Carlos' hair, longer now that Cecil was protecting it from any sharp objects, was blowing into his face but he didn't seem to mind and let it flick all around him; the way some of his steps just barely wobbled, as if he was standing with confidence on the edge of a plateau made of gravel; the constant reminder of his beautiful smile always being ready to pull at his cheeks and let the sunshine that was Carlos shine even in the darkness of the void hanging, threatening and comforting, above Night Vale.

To Cecil, every part of Carlos was something to admire and analyze and pay attention to. His body and mind were the clues to a mystery, and you only got to see them once. Cecil loved to say he spent time thinking about the small miracles of everyday life before, but now that he had Carlos (and Carlos had him, most of all) admiring miracles was a ritual he practiced religiously.

They had walked home with hands grasped tight, and Carlos had kissed him against the door once they were inside, and Cecil had never felt happier. He'd never been happier to have a sturdy, incredibly gentle body against his; never been happier to have that body roll against his in waves that smelled like science and the meaning of life; never been happier to roll back against it, but Cecil's body crashing rather than rolling in and out as the tide does.

Carlos was a paradox of abrasive and soft.

Carlos was wild as the feral dogs that roamed the non-existent mountains and calm like the ocean of himself.

Carlos was each strand of his thick, pull-able hair and the small brush strokes in his dark, immaculate skin (which is yet another paradox).

Carlos was perfection to Cecil.

Carlos was the reason that Cecil existed and nothing could ever change that.

Cecil never lost hope in anything because then he could never appreciate Carlos as much as he did, which Cecil felt was never enough. And it perplexed Cecil just how much he could love someone, but this was Carlos and the Sheriff's Secret Police said that asking questions that you weren't told to ask was a very bad idea, so he never thought much about it until that night.

So it shouldn't have been a surprise to Carlos when after he said, “I— I don't think you actually want to do this.” Cecil would respond with, “Yes! _Yes_! God, you have no _idea_ how much I _absolutely_ want to _do. this._ You are the most _beautiful_ human being that I have _ever_ seen and if we do not do this _right. now._ I am going to **implode**!”

But it did.

It did and Cecil still had his hands balled into Carlos' plaid, half-unbuttoned shirt and he was heaving in breaths waiting for Carlos' mouth back on his, their bodies two seas of passion at war.

And he didn't have to stare into Carlos' almond eyes that were so very beautiful in early-morning sunlight for very long before this happened.

No one could accurately describe the gentle fervor with which Carlos picked Cecil up and placed him onto the bed, climbing on top of him like fluid, kisses trailing up Cecil's lightly-haired stomach and chest. No one could explain the science behind the way Cecil squirmed when Carlos' lips ghosted over his pulse, Cecil's eyes shut tight and their flushed bodies together straining in anticipation.

And Carlos looked so calm, so joyful. The roguish crinkle in his eyes and twist of his plush, unnaturally soft lips as Cecil moaned into their kisses and grunted into his shoulder was positively _evil_.

The urgency of their movements and noises was amplified by the creaking of their bed, the spidering cracks in the glass of a windshield that has been hit with an army of pebbles; the hot breath in their mouths that wasn't always theirs; the way their burning skin sparked whenever they touched, the ignition of the fires of their passion and connection.

Every part of them was dipped in the glossy coating of desire and lust and the gut-feeling that everything was meant to be, everything is beautiful and wonderful and _neat_.


End file.
